Mama, Don't Preach
by kisskisslovya
Summary: Techincally, a Rock Band fanfic. Meet Nia, a fierce, young, 18 year-old, who's out of her mom's house and ready to start a band, one that's sure to rock the world. Follow her and her bandmates, a mysterious, but fun-going twenty year old named Akuma, a quiet and tough girl named Andy, and hipster Jake as they rise from local band to legends. Rated T for language.


**Okay, so yeah, I'm almost just telling you how I play Rock Band 3, but I really get all of my money out of this game. I really don't know if this qualifies as fanfiction, but whatever…**

**Hope you enjoy it.**

**Hope I will not lose interest…**

Hm…I guess the term, "Born to Rock" is a bit of a cliché, but I think that pretty much summed up exactly how I felt about my future. The future that my mom was certain wasn't going to happen. Rather, the future she wasn't going to _allow_ happen. The future that I had dreamed about ever since I played my guitar.

I realize that she didn't want me to throw away the first couple of years of my real life, but to show no support at all? How motherly.

And I put up with it for the first few months of my eighteenth year. The thing that pushed me over the edge was her destruction of my room. My drums, my guitar and bass, both amps, all of my posters, every single CD, just gone. Sold to a guy at a pawn shop down the street. The thing was, I had no idea she was going to go that overboard. One day she just flips out and I'm left with nothing that I love, and I mother that I wasn't sure if I loved anymore.

I wasn't just pushed over the edge. No, I was reborn in a new fury. I painted flames on my door, getting paint all over the carpet. A deadbolt installed haphazardly, but effective along with a chain lock. I stole her wallet out of her purse with the receipt of the pawn shop and got all of my stuff back, along with a few new CDs and a brand new amp, bought with her money. Bought some pink hair dye, and made my hair as bright as a neon marker. And I was blasting my guitar when she came home, along with a CD playing "Dead End Friends" by Them Crooked Vultures. God, it felt delicious. And I was playing so loud that I didn't hear her yells of anger. Rebellion was my new drug.

But I knew I couldn't keep it up. And she did too. But before she could sell my stuff again and tie me to the bed with a jump-rope, I left. Got my friend Joe to help me move my stuff in his truck and moved out of suburbia into the city.

Granted, the apartment was a piece of shit, but the freedom was worth it. It was a little garage apartment, but sort of in the middle of nowhere, and with no main house to go along with it. The garage was mine, and there were no neighbors to come and bitch about my music. It was just like heaven.

So, I was out of my mother's house, away from her rules, and ready to start… everything. I knew I wasn't ready to drop everything and focus on a band, but I could put out some feelers. Another friend got me a job at a pool hall, which was pretty much easy money, if you can stand the smoke.

It gave me time to practice, and I was determined to all of my skills sharp. When it came to instruments, I guess I was pretty virtuous. My singing ability wasn't quite as good as the rest, and I only had a decent range, but I could play guitar, bass, and drums. And now I could play them whenever I wanted, free of distractions.

Well, that is, until someone came to the door while I was practicing a particularly challenging part from "Beast and the Harlot".

In my head I was already being mad at them while walking to the door on the side of the garage. _Goddammit, I wasn't even being that loud. My amp isn't even on 3!_

But when I answered the door, it wasn't some old geezer from the café across the street like I had thought, but a guy, probably about 20, 21. His black hair was spiked, like something out of an older anime. He grinned with one side of his mouth when I opened the door. But what really caught my attention were his eyes. They had to have been contacts, but the eerie beauty of those bright red eyes was captivating. His clothes were punky, but looked like he had just thrown a few things on. Both of his ears had multiple piercings, hoops and spiked gauges. His eyebrows were interesting, though I wouldn't know how to describe them without sounding stupid, and his left one also had a piercing.

(Editor's note; I'll probably be uploading a few pictures to go along with the story, such as one of this mysterious stranger, to my deviantart, so check there or my tumblr, both 'kisskisslovya' if you want to see them.)

Also, another thing you should know about me; I always pick a song for every person I meet, and when I saw him I thought of "Hey Man, Nice Shot" by Filter.

"I heard you playing. Maybe if you had a bass playing the beat you could get that song down." He said. He had a slight accent that I couldn't quite place. "Got a spare you'd be willing to let a stranger play?"

I couldn't help but smile. Here was this guy, who I didn't know at all, and who didn't know me at all, asking if he could play with my instruments.

A voice in the back of my head was being paranoid (Or smart, depending on your stance) wondering if he was a rapist or a serial killer.

"A few questions first." I said to him.

"Shoot." He said.  
"What song was I just playing?" I asked him, crossing my arms.

"Beast and the Harlot." He replied calmly.

I wasn't impressed yet. "And who's it by?"

And he wasn't intimidated. "Avenged Sevenfold."

"What your take on Grunge?"

"It's one of my favorite genres of music, but it's not well defined, and a lot can be considered 'grunge.'" Now I was getting interested.

"Favorite grunge band?" I asked.  
"Hmm, that's tough. Probably Pearl Jam or Nirvana, maybe Smashing Pumpkins." He said after a bit of thought. Well, that was good enough for me. That really didn't prove the voice in the back of my head wrong, but I was willing to trust him.

"Alright, final question; What's your name, stranger?"

"Haha, you can call me 'Akuma.'" He said, smiling that one-sided smile. "That's not your name, too, is it?" he asked me, jokingly.

"Well, it couldn't be if I was born in Japan. But it's Nia." I moved out of the way of the door, and said, "Come on in. My bass is in the corner, over there, but it might be out of tune."

"Haven't played it in a while, huh?" He asked me, walking over to where I had pointed.

"Well, I'm an attention hog, and not many songs feature a strong bass part. And then there's my personal preference in songs, plus the song has to be challenging enough to catch my interest, blah, blah, blah." I say, picking my guitar back up and putting the strap around my neck.

"Nah, I totally get where you're coming from." He told me, plucking the first string of the bass, and adjusting its tuning accordingly. "Ever heard of 'Antibodies' by Poni Hoax?" He asked, moving on to the second string.

"Oh, I've tried, but something about that bass riff is just challenging for me." I said, raising my eyebrows and chuckling. "So, you know this song by heart, or do I have to pull up the tabs?"

"No, I'm just going to hit you on the head with this bass, steal your stuff and tie you up in my basement." He said. I stopped for a second. His face looked serious, even with that smile. "I'm joking. I swear to God, I'm joking."

"Like I can trust you now!" I say, the pitch in my voice raising a bit as I laugh at him. "Way to get a girl's attention though.

"Sorry to continue the quiz, but do you know who Fleetwood Mac is?" I ask, curious about this punky stranger who told me to call him "devil" and who makes creepy jokes.

"Please, I could tell you Stevie Nick's life-story." He said, grinning. "And don't worry; I can handle a few questions."

"Alright then, what's up with the eyes?" I asked, sitting down in one of the few chairs I had lying around.

"Tends to happen when you sell your soul." He told me, I assumed, jokingly. "Kidding, they're contacts. Just wanted something to stand out a bit, you know. Not all of our eyes are born with shocking eye-colors like you."

"Like your hair doesn't make you stand out in a crowd. And what do mean, 'like me?'" I ask.

"Seriously, you've never been told something about your eyes? I've never seen that bright of a sea-foam green. And with your hair-color, you look like a picture-perfect example of contrast." He said, taking a seat as well.

"Well, then, I'll take that as a compliment. Play anything else besides bass?" I ask, continuing the quiz.

"Everything?" He asks, not sure the extent of my questions parameters. "I don't do marching band instruments or orchestra, but guitar, bass, drums, yeah. I was going to sing in a band with my girlfriend, too."

"Why didn't you?" I ask.

"Car accident. She died." He says, slightly solemn.

I'm taken aback, and regret asking. "Oh, I'm sorry."

"Don't be, it was about four years ago, I'm over it." He says, the solemn-ness vanishing. "Your turn. Home town?"

"Heh, Greenville, Alabama." I say. "Moved to San Fran when I was 16. Prefer it here, though."

"How long have you been playing?" He continued, gesturing towards the guitar.

"Since I was eleven. Took a guitar class at my school, made my way up from the acoustic. I've been playing the drums since I was fourteen, the bass shortly after I moved to San Fran. I sing, but I'm not as good at it as I'd like to be."

"Range of music?"

I thought for a second before saying, "The Stones, to Weezer, to Faith No More, to Foo Fighters, Aerosmith, and Panic! At The Disco, Skrillex, Cristina Aguilera, and Pixies, Red Hot Chili Peppers, all the way to J-pop and back again. Surprisingly, no country. That's where I draw my line."

He chuckled a bit, before thinking of another question. "Boyfriend?"

"No."

"Good, no commitments. Which brings me to my next question.

"Are you in a band already?" He asked.

"Nope. I just moved to this place, and I've been trying to get settled in. It's on my to-do list though."

"Maybe we should start one." He said.

"The two of us? Doesn't seem like it'll work well." I say.

"Then we'll hold auditions." He replied.

He continued to ask me questions, and I asked plenty of him, and we talked late into the night. Who'd have thought I would meet someone with this many shared interests after only a few weeks of living in the city? At about ten past two, we exchanged phone numbers, and he left for home. As he walked out onto the sidewalk, he said "We're the same. The world had better prepare for this band." Then he turned around and walked off along the lamppost lit sidewalk into the night.


End file.
